


It's a Wonderful Life, Sherlock

by noadventureshere



Category: It's a Wonderful Life (1946), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Gen, It's a Wonderful Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 07:55:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3017051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noadventureshere/pseuds/noadventureshere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is in custody after the confrontation at Appledore. He makes a wish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Wonderful Life, Sherlock

Sherlock lay on his bunk. As jails went, it wasn't too bad.

 

His mind was racing. Nothing new in that; but there was an uncomfortable feeling high in his abdomen. Unfamiliar. Regret.

 

Mycroft had just finished with him. He now knew how stupid he had really been. Magnussen: utterly distasteful, had been a great nuisance of late and was due to be neutralized. Plans were in motion.

 

He had even miss-stepped with Mary. Double dealings and participation in things that made her a threat. Love John she might, but she was more dangerous to him than they had reckoned. The threat of Magnussen was to be the bait for her containment.

 

He had bulled in and wrecked it all. There was a mad scramble going on to regain the upper hand now.

 

Sherlock sat up and swung his legs off the bunk. He sat with his head in his hands. No matter what he did lately, it was all wrong. If he was to be honest with himself, which he preferred, it wasn't only lately.

 

Always the wrong thing. He should have died when he fell. He should have died as a child and spared everyone. Or maybe he should never have been born.

 

He didn't very much want to die, but maybe he should not have been. Everyone would have been better off.

 

A sad sigh echoed in the cell.

 

Sherlock sat up so fast he almost cracked his skull on the cell wall. He had not made a sound in an hour. He watched in fascination and a kind of abject horror as the form of a man slowly coalesced in front of him.

 

Oh good, he thought. Christmas hallucinations.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hallucination? Thanks. Ta very much. You look great too.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the slight man with rounded shoulders who was brushing himself off in the middle of the cell. He shook snowflakes from his grey hair.

 

Sherlock was completely at a loss. He knew the man as an honest, hard-working man, probably factory work. Widower, no, yes. He also seemed at least fifty years out of date.

 

He hadn't felt so muddled since The Woman.

 

“Well, nothing to say?” The man was very calm for someone who had just materialized from thin air. “Arthur, by the way.” He offered his hand for Sherlock to shake.

 

When he shook it, it was warm, roughly calloused. Real. Sherlock looked in question at his own hand. Once you’ve eliminated the impossible…

 

“Am I, am I dead?” Sherlock was pleased that his voice didn't betray him by shaking.

 

“Dead? No. I’m not the Angel of Death. I daresay you've seen her a time or two by now.”

 

Sherlock’s brow cleared. “But you _are_ aren't you? Dead anyway.”

 

The little man beamed. “Of course. Knew you’d get it. Bet the boys upstairs you’d have it quick.”

 

Sherlock gestured to the bunk opposite. “Coming out of thin air helped. I can’t tell, why are you here?”

 

Arthur sat down with a sigh. “These really are uncomfortable aren't they? Here I thought you could tell anything about anyone Mr. Holmes.”

 

“Sherlock please. You've been dead at least 50 years, you have no tells for me to read. Have you come to turn me from my wicked ways?”

 

“Wicked ways? What, that you've killed a man tonight? Not the first time you've done that. No harm there. Not much wicked about you. If you died tomorrow, I’d gladly serve next to you until the end of time. You’re a good man.”

 

He shifted in his seat and clasped his hands on his knees. ”That’s why I’m here. Because you are a good man. And it’s Christmas. I happen to be an angel. Not a guardian angel, but an angel more-the-less. You've made a rather terrible wish, which I can grant you, but I’d like to show you how wrong you are about it.”

 

“Never having been born? I've done some good, but even my ego doesn't fool me. I’m not that important. I am only one man.” Sherlock pulled his knees up and clasped them to his chest. “In the balance, I think I've caused more harm than I've ever alleviated.”

 

“Can you really believe that?”

 

Sherlock thought of John. The uncertainty and fear in his voice when he called out to him as they were being taken away. He covered a wince by shaking his head. “How can I not?”

 

His not-a-guardian-angel stood up and nodded. “I see you’re going to be a stubborn one. I’ll show you. Show you what happens in a world without you in it.”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. This was stupid.

 

“Did you or did you not go to your own grave site? Aren't you curious at all?” Arthur smiled at Sherlock.

 

Sherlock smiled back. Curiosity had always been a failing of his, and he liked this angel. “A last goodbye would be nice.” He stood, “Where to first? We are in the middle of a high security prison. If I don’t exist any longer, they may be a bit put out that I’m here.”

 

“Look around Sherlock. This isn't a prison anymore. Your brother turned it into one when he took over MI6. It’s just an average office building now.”

 

The bunks were gone. A desk stood behind him with a framed snapshot of someone’s wife and kids. In front of him, the door was open.

 

“Cold out?”

 

“It’s midnight, December 25th. What do you think?”

 

Sherlock smiled broadly and stole a scarf and a jumper from the hooks on the back of the door. He moved towards the exit then stopped. “Can you just take us where we need to go or do we have to walk?”

 

“I can handle most of the transport. We've a fair distance to go.” The office disappeared around them.

 

The sky was still dark. But the lights of the city were perpetual. Sherlock breathed deeply and looked around. The office building to their right was a marvel of glass angles that caught the lights, turning the building into a beacon. He saw the Kingdom Centre in the distance. “Saudi Arabia?”

 

“Spot on Sherlock, spot on.” He waved at the door, “Shall we?”

 

“Please, after you.” Sherlock strolled into the building after Arthur and was immediately grabbed by two security guards. Arthur had vanished. As he was hustled into an elevator, he only put up a token resistance. The elevator descended. It seemed to go far lower than the floors guide indicated.

 

They exited onto a hallway of conference rooms and cubicles. It was populated, although sparsely even at this early hour. No one turned even a curious eye to him as he was towed past. The air was flat and still and tasted recycled.

 

His captors stopped at a door and knocked.

 

“/Come./” The words were Arabic but the voice was his brother’s. Sherlock smiled. The door opened on a small office. Mycroft sat behind a nondescript desk. He gestured to a chair. “/Leave him./”

 

Sherlock stared at the man rising before him. Mycroft’s youthful stoutness had blossomed into a corpulent adulthood. Sherlock gave him a slow once over as he returned the favor.

 

“English I presume.” Mycroft wore his identity plainly. Mediocre suit, cheap cologne. Too plainly.

 

“Of course. Corporate law? Really?”

 

Mycroft’s expression didn't change at all. “You seem to have lost your tour bus. We will have to get you back to it with speed. It is dangerous to be wandering around. Tell me, what is your name?”

 

It didn't take a genius to know that his real name would be ill received. “William Watson.” He didn't think John would mind.

 

“And who is your employer Mr. Watson?” Sherlock felt a small glow knowing that Mycroft couldn't deduce him. Non-existence had its perks.

 

“No one. Just having a look round. It’s fascinating how much of the known world you can see and control from one small, cramped office.” He remained bland as Mycroft’s attention on him sharpened.

 

He pressed a small buzzer on the desk. “Diana please. You are interesting Mr. Watson. You aren't afraid, although you have no weapons and zero backup. You have all the hallmarks of someone who knows me well, but I distinctly do not know you. Tell me, Mr. Watson, does anyone know where you've gone today?”

 

Sherlock felt chilled. Mycroft’s eyes were dead eyes. A shark’s eyes. Not one whit of care remained. Everything he was, was a cover. The door opened at Sherlock’s back and he looked over his shoulder.

 

“You needed me?” Sherlock stared at the owner of the soft but deadly voice. Mary Morstan, or Diana, stood at rest in the doorway looking at him curiously.

 

“My huntress. Please take Mr. Watson here to the desert and let our friends know that another video or two would be timely.”

 

“Anything else?”

 

“Yes – the fingerprints. Make sure this set is not smudged.” She nodded and pulled a small gun from her pocket.

 

“If you’d be so kind Mr. Watson.” She made a come along gesture. He borrowed all his courage and preceded her from the room. Arthur was in the hallway and Mary didn't react to him at all.

 

All sound stopped. “Seen enough Sherlock?” Mary was frozen behind him and he looked at her sadly.

 

“She didn't like civilian life?”

 

“No. She was quickly bored. There wasn't anyone to hold her there. Work with your brother is exciting enough. The men here underestimate her constantly.” Arthur wrinkled his nose. “Usually the last thing they ever do.”

 

Sherlock’s lips quirked in a smile. “That would suit her well. And Mycroft?”

 

“Without you, he had no one to protect. No equals. Why should he care?”

 

“I realize he’s fairly invisible here, but law?” Sherlock pulled a face. “It’s all his isn't it. Every player belongs to him.”

 

“Queen and country mean very little to him. He is his own power.”

 

“Then he has what he’s always wanted.” Sherlock looked back into the office at his brother. Frozen in time.

 

Arthur regarded him sadly. “Well, this is the furthest afield we are going. Back to London I think.

 

* * *

 

 

They walked along a sidewalk. Even being Christmas, there were still people out. Mostly congregating on the bar they were headed for.

 

“So far so good, who’s next?” Sherlock rubbed his hands together. He had neglected to steal any gloves and his hands were freezing.

 

The bar was noisy and crowded with humanity. They were jostled about as Arthur maneuvered them to the far side of the bar. He ordered them drinks. Sherlock leaned at a tall table and watched Lestrade fight through the throng to a booth near where Arthur had placed them.

 

He slid into the seat across from Sally Donovan and handed her one of the drinks. “So what’s it like, back in the big city?”

 

“Oh, masses of people, all of them rude, it’s lovely. Noisy, dirty…”

 

“And you miss every minute of it.” She flashed a rude sign at him. “I’ll never understand why you felt you had to leave. Everyone in love gets made a fool of. A git like Anderson shouldn't have forced you away from anything.”

 

“It wasn't because of him. Leading me on for years didn't help. I just needed a fresh start. I needed a change.”

 

“I mean, yeah, but Salisbury? It’s so quiet.”

 

Sally shrugged and fiddled with her hair. She clearly didn't want to talk about it. Sherlock could see that she was slowly fading. A racehorse forced to a plow. She was one of the smarter detectives on the force. Love was truly a terrible thing.

 

“It’s not so bad. We get the odd murder sometimes. And I’m not so far if I want to visit.”

 

They both drank. Sally retrieved the next round. Arthur had been quiet. Just looking around as if he hadn't a care in the world. Sherlock frowned into his whiskey. He supposed angels didn't have cares. He examined Greg. The man hadn't slept well in weeks. Kipping out on a sofa, not a bed.

 

“Oh, I meant to congratulate you. Detective Inspector at last!” Sally smiled and held her glass up in salute. Sherlock had finally taken a sip of his drink and almost choked on it.

 

Lestrade looked sour and pursed his lips. “Yeah, well.” He swirled his drink around and looked lost. Tired. He looked tired. And old.

 

“Greg?” Sally reached out and laid a hand on his arm.

 

“My wife. She’s left me. Sally, she just left me. I never saw it coming. I get a promotion and instead of celebrating, she leaves me.”

 

Sherlock exploded. “She was cheating on you for years! I told you--No, if you’re too stupid to put two and two together, why should I bother to help you? And you, wasting your brain looking after tourists! What you two have come to is a disgrace!” Sherlock was enraged. He ignored Arthur tugging on his arm.

 

Greg was so surprised he knocked over his glass. He stood up and looked at Sherlock in anger. “Mate, I don’t know what you’re on about, but if you don’t leave us alone, I’ll take you outside and thrash you.”

 

“Thrash me? I believe that I had the better of you last time we tried that.” Sherlock sniffed.

 

Sally was puzzled. “You know this guy?”

 

“I've never seen him before in my life.”

 

“In your-” Sherlock stopped and glanced at Arthur. The little angel nodded and Sherlock sighed. “To hell with this.”

 

He pushed his way out of the bar. He nicked a pair of gloves on the way. It only seemed to be getting colder. Arthur hurried after him. It wouldn't do to lose him.

 

Sherlock stood on the pavement a little way down the street. As Arthur approached, he spoke, “They’re both smart people. How could they fail to advance? A few nudges from me shouldn't have been enough to change their history so much.”

 

“Greg began looking at things in different ways once he met you. You gave him evidence to support things he knew but couldn't prove.” Arthur sighed, “Without you to spur them along, they do their best, but you know how hard it is for other people to put together the scratches on someone’s hands with a specific garden fence.”

 

“An hour later and he would have washed away all the evidence.”

 

“Without you, he did.” Arthur was matter of fact and it made Sherlock sad. They walked a little way and Sherlock realized they were near to St. Bart's.

 

“Do you think there is any chance Molly could be persuaded to save me any parts?” Arthur shook his head.

 

“Where would you put them anyway?”

 

Sherlock paused, “Is it any fun, not having been?”

 

“I don’t know. I've never wanted to be anyone else but me.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock stood outside Molly’s lab. It was late, it was Christmas and the nameplate on the door clearly indicated that she was now married; why was she still here?

 

She was humming along to the radio and puttering around. Doing pointless experiments and wiping things down. Sherlock was about to knock when a new song came on and he heard her begin to sing.

 

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas wasn’t the most cheerful of songs, but she made it sound as if her heart was breaking. Sherlock looked around the lab. No pictures of her husband. Not even on her desk. Her wedding ring was lackluster and cheap. She was unhappy.

 

He was angry. Molly would mend. She would love again. There would be no him to manipulate her and put her career at risk. The song changed and Molly stopped singing. Sherlock stalked out of the building. Once on the pavement, he rounded on the little angel who had been trailing along behind.

 

“Why show me this? I can’t change it. I certainly don’t love her. I can’t save her from a bad marriage.”

 

“But you did.”

 

Sherlock threw his arms in the air in agitation. “She must have love him once, this Sherman.”

 

“She loved you once too.”

 

“Don’t compare me to him. I could never have married her. Even I wouldn’t be that cruel. I promised her nothing. I just wanted access and supplies. She knew well enough what I was doing.” He paced. Faster and faster. His brain was racing overtime and he just wanted it to stop. He didn’t look at the angel at all and took off running.

 

Arthur was worried. This one was a bit volatile and the worst was still to come.

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock ran for home. He was only one person in the end. Any choices people made were their own. He couldn’t be responsible for the world.

 

He passed Angelo’s at speed and almost skidded out in the snow turning around. Not Angelo’s. Something Greek. Because without him, Angelo went to prison for murder of course.

 

How many people were walking free because he hadn’t put them away? How many more innocent people had died?

 

He trudged, unseeing through London. His London. A London he no longer knew. He was so cold. He almost tripped over a body on the pavement. A quick check. Not dead, just homeless.

 

He stripped off his stolen gloves for her. He had nothing else to give. He stepped back startled by her face. Part of his network, a former junkie. She had cleaned up and gotten off the streets a year ago.

 

“Because of you.”

 

Sherlock whirled around. He should have known you couldn’t hide from an angel. He hoped the darkness of the street would hide the tears that threatened to fall. “The network-”

 

“There is no network Sherlock. You weren’t here to start one and no one else began one in your absence.”

 

“She wanted to be clean.”

 

“Yes. Because she wanted to work with you. Wanted you to be proud. You gave her a purpose, something to work towards.”

 

He crowded the angel. “No, she wanted it for herself! It can’t have been for me.”

 

Arthur looked up unafraid where Sherlock loomed over him. “You helped her believe she could.” He waited for the man to collect himself. He was breaking, he needed a little push. Arthur moved them the few blocks to Baker Street. “Look around Sherlock. Where are you?”

 

Above, the windows were lit with fairy lights. Children’s arguing and laughing filtered down to the street. Two children, trimming their tree. Sherlock didn’t know them.

 

He cleared his throat. “I see Mrs. Hudson found nice normal renters.”

 

“Oh no Sherlock. She doesn't own this building. Never has.” A pained expression crossed Sherlock’s face. “No, not dead. Rather happy actually. Serving a twenty year sentence for killing her husband.”

 

Sherlock’s mouth opened and closed, but he said nothing.

 

“He wasn't sent away, he was got off. Abused her for a few more years before she finally had enough. Turned herself in, pled guilty and has been happily serving sentence ever since.” Sherlock frowned and nodded.

 

“Anything else I should know?” His voice was firm and cold. Arthur was losing him.

 

 “Well, Irene is still giving her paddle and chains a workout. Without Moriarty to prod her, she’s content to be a small fish.”

 

“Without?”

 

“Oh yes. Let me take you to him.” The air shimmered around them and Sherlock shivered. They were at a graveyard.

 

“Richard Brook. He was bored with no one to play with. Started getting his hands dirtier and dirtier. He played at torture for the fun of it. Ended up knifed by a random thug in an alley. Probably better that way.”

 

“Very likely,” Sherlock rubbed his arms. “Let’s go. I've seen it all, we’re done here.”

 

Arthur was startled by his abruptness. “Haven’t you forgotten someone?”

 

“Nope.” He popped the P like a grumpy teen.

 

“Don’t you want to see what…”

 

“I said no.”

 

“Aren't you curious?”

 

“No! Why do I want to see how much happier he would have been without me in his life? The wife, the children he never got to have?” Sherlock choked a little on this and put a hand over his eyes. “Please. I don’t need to see. He’s got to be better off.”

 

“Sherlock, open your eyes and say that again.”

 

“No.” He felt a fluttering in his stomach. He really didn't want to examine it too closely.

 

“You have to know. I can’t grant this wish until you know the consequences. It’s like a rule.” Arthur’s voice was soft.

 

“I've never much been one for rules.” He didn't know why, but he didn't want to look. He was so cold.

 

“Open your eyes.”

 

Sherlock lowered his hand and looked around. They didn't seem to have moved. “I thought you said…” His voice trailed off and stopped. Sherlock felt his heart freeze as he crouched down to read the name on the simple black stone in front of him. He touched the letters and knew he was shattered.

 

He knelt in the grass for a long time. If not for the slight mist of breath coming from his mouth, Arthur would have wondered if Sherlock was still alive.

 

“How?” Sherlock croaked out, breaking the silence.

 

“He waited for months for something to happen for him. He couldn’t adjust. He took that illegal gun and,” Arthur mimed shooting himself. “Pow, it was all over. All that pain, all the loneliness. Just another veteran suicide.”

 

“I’m just one man. How can I affect him so?” Tears finally flowed freely from Sherlock’s eyes.

 

“He’s just one man too. How would it hurt you if he’d never existed?”

 

Sherlock thought and paled. “If I ask you not to grant that wish, it all goes back? Just the way it was?”

 

“Just the way it was.”

 

He closed his eyes and prayed. “Then please. Please do not grant me that wish.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was warm again, everything was still. The air flat and compressed. Sherlock opened his eyes.

 

He was kneeling on the floor of his cell with Arthur sitting on one of the bunks. He took a shaky breath and pulled himself up onto the other bunk. “Thank you Arthur.” He sounded sad. Just as sad as before.

 

Arthur was confused. “Aren’t you glad to be alive again?”

 

“Glad he’s alive.”

 

“Is that all?”

 

“It’s all I have.” Sherlock stood and walked to the cell door. He slumped against it, looking out the small window. “If all goes to plan, I may join you in 6 months or so. If not, not more than I year.” He looked at Arthur with eyes rimmed in red. “I’m a dead man you know. Have been for three years. I just haven’t stopped moving yet.”

 

He sighed and looked away again. “But he will live. He will have his child. I wish I could see it. But I expect I’ll be out of reach by then.”

 

“A strange life you lead Sherlock.” Arthur shook his head.

 

“Did she go first? Your wife I mean?”

 

“No, I did. And before you ask, yes, I went back as often as I could.”

 

“Did it hurt to see her?”

 

“All the time Sherlock. All the time.” Arthur stood and held out his hand. “Happy Christmas Sherlock. I’ll be seeing you.”

 

Sherlock unfolded from his place near the door and shook Arthur’s hand. He grimaced. “It has been educational. Do you get wings now or something? I think he made me watch a film like that once.”

 

“No. What would I do with a pair of great fluffy wings?” Arthur shrugged.

 

Sherlock watched as Arthur faded from sight. He retreated back to his bunk to try for some sleep.

 

Maybe this would all make sense tomorrow. For now, the thought that he might haunt John and see his child comforted him. He smiled and allowed himself to drift off to sleep.

* * *

 

 

“The picture is back now sir.” The technician pointed to the screen.

 

“I can see that, I want to know where it had gone.” Mycroft was in a foul mood as he watched his baby brother sleeping in a cell. He didn’t relish breaking the news to Mummy and Dad about this. Maybe he could release John and let him explain.

 

“Sir, your mother on line 2.”

 

Mycroft winced. Maybe not. He wondered, not for the first time, how different life would be if his brother had never been born. He sighed and turned towards the phone.

 

He’d probably be frightfully bored.


End file.
